Tuesday, August 17, 2010

But Wait! There's More!

Look at me, blogging before I forget what I've seen and heard! [edit: clearly I started this post quite a while ago, and I'll cover most of August.] I'm the queen of the blogosphere! (Yep, I'm picturing me standing on the prow of the internet, all Titanic-style, bits and bytes and letters spraying in my face in the wind...). I've had plenty in the past couple of weeks to describe in weird and wonderful and nonsensical post-literary flourishes. Was that a bit grandiose? Or maybe a bit dismissive and self-ridiculing? Whatever; as long as it's some of both I'm good with it.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw the all-B show. This show was at Mississippi Studios, and it appears that the cool goes where Alicia Rose books. There's almost nothing I want to see anymore at Doug Fir since she left, and I go to MS all the damn time. Breakfast Mountain opened, and I got there partway through their set. It was excruciatingly loud power-synth-and-drums electro-something. The Beauty, whom I've described before, haven't changed a bit except that there were three of them instead of two. This time, it was a big ol' bear, a tattooed skinny punk, and a gangly, kind of dorky guy doing Prince-influenced ipod-driven dancepop. Then Brainstorm, whose PPN Festival description still fits just as accurately. It was awesome watching people try to dance, including this one guy who I wished I could put on Youtube for his dorky, over-the-top hippie-meets-fourth-grade-dance-class (jazz hands!) weirdness.

Last week was four shows in six days. Tuesday, I saw Blue Giant at Mississippi Studios for a free, supposedly secret show for them to tune up and pull shit together before they go out on tour. Delorean (there are two Deloreans, spelled differently, one's from Spain and one's from Portland...my spelling may be wrong but I know I have the right city) opened with some fairly bland mid-tempo folk-pop. Seemed like a good opportunity to hang out in the new BarBar space next door, MS's new resto-bar (oh, shit...I hate that non-word, sorry about that) that's there to subsidize the music. Then Blue Giant rocked the house, explained away the flags (something about how Portland is the best place on earth, so they needed to figure out what they had in common with their fellow Americans before they went out on tour into the midst of them, and what they came up with is that they're all Americans, so they're bringing some flags), amazed and awed. When My Love Is Gone, It's Gone For Good. But I still adore BG.

Thursday: Dragging An Ox Through A Waterfountain...uh...or Dragging an Ox Through Water at the Lovejoy Fountain. No Opener or anything, tiny shoebox-sized amps, big steel pot-lids as windchime-like hanging percussion. Fascinating stuff.

Saturday, I saw The Angry Orts at Doug Fir for their CD Release show. Nucular Aminals opened up, and I thought I liked them, and I might be wrong. I didn't like this set much, nerdy and weird on purpose (and I like nerdy...but I have issues with weird-on-purpose). The Ascetic Junkies followed. Why one of them said hi to me, by name, good-to-see-you-again, baffled me...gotta be work-related. These guys are far too cute, a nearly square-dance-ready froth of gingham and ukelele and sorta-bluegrass. Then the Orts just blew me away. I've seen them a bunch of times and loved them, but this was just the next level. Sara was kind of trashed, but just put on an even better show, all Blondie and Sleater-Kinney...then covering Joan Jett. In a corset. Great band, astounding songs, and then Sara's just such a dynamic and fun performer.

Then Sunday there was just an unbelievable show at Rontoms. I got there for part of Monarques, who do such throwback 1950s and early 1960s stuff...it strikes me as simplistic and boring (and oh how glad I am I didn't have to live through that era of music, for such straight and straightforward stuff to be considered revolutionary and rock-and-roll). But then The Dirty Mittens did their thing. Power-yelping, playful, charming, high-energy, hooky, and so undeniably talented. Ramona Falls up last...Brent of Menomena looking like the most understated but also the one with the true, subtle emotional depth. And then he launches into "I Say Fever," and...wow. Not so understated. You want smoke machines and strobe lights. And yet still emotional depth. There are times when he's my favorite voice in Menomena, and Ramona Falls totally highlights what I love about Brent. (Of course, the other side projects make them all my favorites in turn...)

Huh...I can't even remember when this show was that I'm reading my notes from. Oh! This was a couple of weeks before the festival, at Mississippi Studios. Gregory Miles Harris up first. He's supposed to have been in town for years, playing very rare, unappreciated shows for the privileged few. He did this more-Half-Japanese-than-Half-Japanese high-pitched squeaky weirdness that had some hints of brilliance to it and a lot of silliness. Sometimes charming and sometimes tiresome. Alan Singley and Pants Machine next. I'd seen them a couple of times recently at parties, so the "world premiere" songs weren't really world premieres to me. Good set, moderately together, and always fun. IOA (or ioa) finished up. Damn, Amanda's got an astounding voice and I'll go see anything she does. Warm, chanteuse-y, songwriter-y stories. Papi Fimbres adding some complexity. But it doesn't have the otherworldly, anti-pop qualities I love so much about Point Juncture, WA. I bought an IOA (or ioa?) CD, and I can't get the Boxcar Children song out of my head, but some part of me is just sitting there, crosslegged, defiant, pouting, waiting for the next PJWA disc.

Okay, that will have to cover it for now. I saw a few lovely, short, acoustic sets in someone's backyard and still have the blisters to show for it (it's a long story...and then I got companion blisters the next weekend commercial-amateur-rafting on the Deschutes), and probably some other stuff, but no more looking back! Onward to September!

Thursday, August 05, 2010

PDX Pop Then!

Here's where I put the requisite apologetic groveling for not writing more often. Yes, I've seen lots of shows. No, I haven't blogged about them. No, I don't remember the details or my snarky observations. This is like my scrapbook, so it kills me when I don't have the time to document where I've been and what I've seen...how am I supposed to remember what to tell my grandchildren?

Last weekend was PDX Pop Now! This was my fifth year attending the festival, I think, and my fourth year having something to say on the interwebs about it. My third year as a volunteer. It's kinda become my thing. I know how things work, I know what to eat and what to avoid in the green room (don't eat more than one Voodoo Doughnut per day...it's not good for you; get in on the dried fruit on day one, because it will be gone by Saturday morning), I know the people and some of the bands.

Friday started with Blue Horns. They are a reliable, failsafe power trio that is always on...and never impresses me as something terribly interesting. They started things off with a bang, absolutely, but my rush to get there to see Band One was probably unnecessary. Ylang Ylang was next...a new-ish portlandy hot...well, in any other town they'd be called a supergroup, but around here it's just a really good side project. Power trio plus viola, with Charlie Salas-Humara of Panther on guitar/vox and Jake Morris of The Joggers on drums. They've gotten all sorts of tighter since I last saw them, their debut show at Jackpot Records, though they're still a bit goofy. Some goth-pop references from the early 80s plus plenty of rawk to go around. I'm loving them. Kusikia was next, a lot of noise but some melody too. Bits of prog-math, some dark stuff, and great at what they did without really grabbing me. Ages and Ages next...first of all, I loved their conceit of selling one single t-shirt for $50 instead of lots of t-shirts at eight or twelve bucks apiece, and I wish someone had bought it (it was written in Sharpie). The music, though, was amazing, a big sing-along onstage but with perfect songs and harmonies, a bouncy campfire-y group of many. So very fun, and their track on this year's PDX Pop Now! compilation is one of my favorites. Rollerball followed, and this is a band I find nearly impossible to describe. But, of course, I'll try. Some trio of prog-gothy, occasionally metal-tinged, occasionally charmingly melodic complexity and, at times, conceit. Impressive, if not always successful. AndAndAnd was crazy-shouty and wild with some Americana undertones, a great time if perhaps a bit overrated. Not that I'm knocking them, I just heard a few people say that was the set they were most looking forward to all weekend, and I gotta say, there's no way they trump The Joggers. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Witch Mountain was...well, I hate metal, so it was a beer set. I wandered down the street to La Merde, my typical Festival hangout (Produce Row gets too crowded), and came back in time for the last bit of Jackie O-Motherfucker. They've been in town for ever and ever, and I can't believe I've never seen them. Well, now I can say I've seen them. Based on what I'd listened to before the fest, I expected to be totally bored, and I wasn't, but that's really the best I can say. Tu Fawning does beautiful stuff, and this late at night after working all day, I was itching for more rock. The headliner for the night was AU, playing with some outfit out of Idaho or Colorado or something they had picked up called Dovekins. I think it kinda ruined them. This brilliant, complicated high-energy experimental duo ended up devolving into aimless hippie-ish jams. There was facepaint. And one of Dovekins seemed rather rude to me in the green room before the set.

Saturday, I was there nice and early. Things started out low-key with Shoeshine Blue doing lovely, folky Americana stuff, nothing overwhelming, but a nice way to ease into the day as I had my first cup of coffee. And that peaceful start was shattered by Tiny Knives, an all-female punk-metal trio of the big-snarly-hair sort. It was...um...a lot. Soup Purse was described to me, repeatedly, as Harsh Noise. And when I described them as Noise, I was repeatedly corrected. Harsh Noise. My attempt to check them out in advance led me to think, if this is harsh noise, how can it be so boring? Lots of clicks and taps with little in the way of notes. It was more interesting live, with some stories and some weird stuff, and yes, some notes. I've gotta at least appreciate a noise band (Harsh noise!) with a horn section. The purses full of soup were a bit much. And more than a bit messy. And got left behind, smelling like split pea. Guantanamo Baywatch was next, and was (appropriately) outside. Tongue-firmly-in-cheek surfpunk, but really well-done. More fun than the song names (Cum Fart Food) would suggest. A total party, but not one where someone barfs on your shoes before the night is over. The Tumblers were up next. They were the closest to a country band the fest had, though in a throwback traditional-country-western sort of way, not a modern pop-stars-with-twang-and-jingoism way. Cute without inviting condescension. O Bruxo, a late addition to the lineup, was another "yawn, we are so used to supergroups in this town we barely bat an eye," supergroup-with-pseudonyms conflagration. Amazing stuff mostly in Spanish, as if world-beat-dance stuff didn't suck and instead overwhelmed with awesome. Led by "Papi Chulo" (David Fimbres, to appear later during the fest playing flute). Grey Anne is always lovely, and since I've seen her a bunch of times, I have to admit, I wandered off to find a snack and sit down for a bit. Fear No Music is a modern/experimental classical collective, made up during this set of a violinist, a keyboardist, a laptop synth player, and a multi-percussionist playing vibraphones and homemade instruments. Dynamic and fascinating, and they seemed to love playing for a baffled rock audience on their feet instead of a baffled classical audience crossing and uncrossing their legs in uncomfortable symphony hall seats. Operative had some of the elements of music, including rhythm and notes. I'm not so sure it was music. It had a driving beat at times, but it got old quick.

Time for an arbitrary new paragraph, I think. Brainstorm was next. I love this band. They're like the train wreck that would result from a DC mathcore band playing folk songs with a tuba. Yes, there's a tuba. Not to get ahead of myself again, but this may be the first two-tuba PPN fest! Moby Dick references, barbershop quartet sounds, vocals like slave-spirituals, 80s electro-casio bleep-pop, and crunching metal guitar all overlap in a way that sounds like it should be awful, but much like a peanut-butter-and-soy-sauce sauce for noodles, ends up kinda transcendent instead. Asss...uh...okay, I have to admit, I couldn't pay attention all the time. I don't totally remember Asss. They played a very, very short set, on the sidewalk instead of the stage, and it was kinda drone-y and I think it was supposed to be experimental. Da'Rel Junior was stellar, brainy, self-conscious (as opposed to conscious?) hip-hop, funny and earnest. He's staff at a local social service agency, working with "troubled" youth, and he told a few stories about his job. He also covered The Fresh Prince of Bel-Aire, which was kick-ass. Wampire up next...a total party in which not every single member of the band took their pants off, but they got close. And the music was pretty fun, too. Bouncy, joyful, utterly lacking in pretension, and probably well-stocked with cassette tapes.

Defect Defect and Eternal Tapestry was the Saturday-evening beer set for me. Uncomplicated thrash-punk (DD) doesn't do much for me. And...well, I saw ET once, and when I described how much I abhorred them, I think I was blunt enough that I made some people uncomfortable. Let's just leave it at that. Okay, fine...I said, "Sitting through that set, I thought I'd rather relive my mother's funeral." I saw them at Mississippi Studios opening for The Joggers last April, and they riffed for 26 minutes straight on one chord. The sax player played the same note in the same rhythm for six solid minutes without alteration. I really began to ponder the possibility of literally dying of boredom. It was physically painful. I was told repeatedly that, while the performance I saw was not necessarily out of character for them, it was not typical, but I just didn't think I could chance it. So I skipped 'em and headed back down to La Merde for some delicious beer. But I rushed back to ensure that I didn't miss Blue Cranes. And they didn't disappoint. They have never failed to exceed my expectations, and my expectations for them these days are pretty sky-high. They not only blew me away, but impressed the 19-year-old boys surrounding me, eagerly awaiting Hockey. The memorable quotes from these kids: "That was so good I almost cried." (And about the boy who said that: "He's a musician, he knows this stuff.") Followed by, "Wow...I've never seen live jazz before!" They set up this amazing, yet frustrating deal at the merch table whereby one could only buy their brand-new, not-yet-released disc if under 21, with ID (they are huge supporters of all-ages music and venues, and their upcoming CD release party, I believe, is at a 21-and-up venue). Diabolically brilliant. Hosannas (formerly Church, whom I believe I've discussed at least once in the past, and maybe more than that) was down to two members from four, with very little notice (they announced their breakup shortly before the festival, actually), and weren't as compelling or dynamic as they've been in the past. i sure hope they get their shit together and re-form as a new band with either some new members or some material built for two. But despite Hosannas not quite being up to par, this closing Saturday set was my favorite of the festival. Joggers were up next...and they knocked that shit right out of the park. They've traded in some of their laid-back 70s influences for more plain-ol' crushing rock. And then, incongruously, there was a digeridoo. And a bear suit (sans head) and a one-piece coverall. Somehow their power-rock and these rhythms you can't really dance to still end up catchy and fun as all hell. Hockey finished up. Suburbanites and little kids with their dads and...oh, hell, I danced too. They took forever to set up, and they were reportedly total divas about the whole thing, and they pulled icky, creepy greshamites up on stage to dance...but they still rocked the house.

Saturday night faded out with this rollicking solo drum set that was sorta a guerrilla set. There were a few guerrilla sets, but I ignored most of them, because even I need ten or fifteen minutes of rest here or there. But this one sounded like it would be unimaginably cool. The drummer from the next day's first band, Why I Must Be Careful, played all. fucking. night. And then played WIMBC the next day, which looks exhausting even if he's gotten a good eight hours of sleep. Of all the things I missed or didn't totally pay attention to, this one kills me the most...I arrived for the day just a few minutes after WIMBC ended. Did I describe them earlier this year? So amazing. Overwhelming, confusing, inexplicable. Probably the two smartest musical minds in this city playing jazz-based freak-outs that sometimes sound like just pounding (on drums and keys), but is really more like the musical equivalent of bio-chemo-neuro-nano-rocket science that is so far beyond your comprehension that all you hear sometimes is noise, with little glimpses here and there of what amazement you'd be privy to if you were 60 IQ points smarter, spent 15 years studying music theory, had an advanced degree in calculus, spent a couple of decades on small Pacific islands with Margaret Mead, then spent years learning extreme kung fu at one of those impossibly isolated mountain Buddhist monasteries devoted to ass-kicking that only exist in kung fu movies. But, having arrived late, I can only imagine such mathematical biochemical primordial jazz ass-kicking as it was at the festival. I did arrive for Michael The Blind, whose folky, floaty yet sturdy, flute- and oboe-like voice mesmerizes me. The only other time I've seen him was at the PDX Pop Now! CD release show in...2006? It was at Berbati's, and it must have been '06 because I remember the poster was the one with the bicycle. Joey Casio, up next, was pure, unadulterated electronic dance thump. Thump, thump, thump...I'll be back later. I missed Cloudy October, Atriarch, and Lewi Longmire due to my responsibilities as a volunteer this year. Cloudy October is supposed to be awesome hip-hop, and I'm sorry I missed him. Atriarch is crunching, earsplitting metal that I don't mind having missed. Lewi Longmire is folk-country-rootsy twang that I probably wouldn't have hated despite my frequent anti-twang bias, and is supposed to be one of the nicest guys around. Krebsic Orkestar was an amazing, awe-inspiring 14(?)-piece gypsy brass band doing this fascinating yet accessible eastern-european stuff that got people bobbing heads and even shaking hips. And they brought the other tuba of the weekend. Autistic Youth was...loud. Punk. Loud. Billygoat (damn, this was an incongruous set) showed 45 minutes of the most amazing stop-motion animation, mostly paper-cut stuff of excruciating and dazzling detail, accompanied by buzzing, swelling, and swirling electronica meant to highlight and showcase the animation. It was the beautiful, awe-inspiring, charming, constantly-changing animation that kept amazing me and making me smile. Please Step Out Of The Vehicle played their supposed last show ever, as Travis Wiggins is moving to Hawaii to accompany his girlfriend who is starting graduate school or something. A bunch of familiar songs, "Papi" Fimbres making his flute hoot and holler in ever-more weird and wonderful ways, I am indescribably glad to have been there for this. I sang along. I sat down behind the stage for I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House, but still heard clearly the actually pretty engaging and enjoyable roadhouse-blues-countrypunkrawk. Like Jackie O-Motherfucker, they've played in town for a decade or something, and I'm glad I've gotten to see them. Unlike JOM, I actually had some fun seeing/hearing them. Ben Darwish was next. I couldn't decide whether he played crowd-pleasing stuff less complex than he's capable of, or whether he defied the crowd by remaining somewhat low-key. Or both. His drummer was amazing, though. I dubbed Get Hustle (prog-funk-metal-psych-party-rawk-experimental-huh?-core) my beer set for the night, and I was off to La Merde again. Is it awful that I can't remember if I came back for part of AAN, whom I remember liking after having heard them online? I do remember I heard Reporter, whose dance-electronica (with fog machine and light bracelets tossed into the audience) was kinda...meh. Whatever. Luck-One hip-hop led off the Sunday headlining outdoor set, but I couldn't hear him well enough to distinguish the lyrics, so I got some Koi Fusion and just tried to hang out and listen. Parenthetical Girls...well, I believe I've described them in the past as Colin Meloy's literary theatricality filtered through Morrissey's personality disorder (I love both Meloy and Morrissey, though I do see the downsides of each), but I forgot to mention that Zac Pennington can't actually sing, which makes things even worse. Typhoon blew a few fuses and led to a long delay, then once they got going seemed to be rollicking...and by then I was tired and wanted to get things taken care of and go home, so I helped with picking up inside and whatever else. Skeletron, at the end, should have been terribly exciting, but I have to admit, I wasn't feeling much of anything at all, even their ("they" being Starfucker as a two-piece, really) super-party-indie-dance-electro-dance-party-indie-andsoforth. It was fun, but it wasn't like Menomena last year or anything.

I think I saw more of the bands this year than ever before. I think I got to the end a bit emotionally exhausted, but my feet were still pretty intact even during the closing set on Sunday. I think I don't know what I'd do without a free three-day festival devoted to the current in local music.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Working backward

I'm going to start with the most recent show I've seen, then work backward until I tire of typing.

Done!

Just kidding. Last weekend I saw Ted Leo and the Pharmacists with Hungry Ghosts and Golden Bears opening. Hungry Ghosts is a hot mess, as someone I know would say. "Hey, girl!", she'd also say. She'd then put a few dozen words into trying to convince me to do her job, while simultaneously trying to explain away why she wouldn't be there when I got there. Anyhow, this band was tight, yet all over. They were proggy, they were rock-y, they were inexplicable. Honestly, they were a great band I didn't like. You should probably go see them, and decide for yourself.

They were followed by Golden Bears. If you read back a few years, you'll find a post in which I lament the Golden Bears' horrendous, atrocious medieval folk-metal and the uncomfortable situation my attempts to evade that horrendous medieval-ness led me to. Suffice it to say that if you're ever in need, you can call the Portland Mercury something else, but it's really a maaaagaziiine......sadly, neither the Golden Bears nor the Portland Mercury has evolved beyond my poor attempt to do something more complicated than hear the band. Lose-lose.

Ted Leo was a fun pop-punk, or at times punk-pop, band. As has been the case when I've seen TL and the Pharmacists in the past, he's had interesting things to say, he's made some interesting chord changes, and he's done both things at once. Go average punk-pop-punk...whoohoo! Lots of energy, some good melody, some good beats, some unnecessary melody, and some unnecessary beats. And so on.

And some equally scintillating average music criticism to come, I promise. Yay!

Wednesday, March 03, 2010

Finding the Positive

Things that feel good this week:

Live music. Starting to garden again for the year. Someone really special to me who wants to improve my mood and yet doesn't get frustrated with me when it doesn't always work.

Two weeks ago, my department was eliminated at work. The economy? No, turns out my department made money that paid for some things that aren't going so well in a mental-health non-profit. Incompetence? No, we've got the most clinically savvy and ethically responsible mental health team in the agency. Personnel problems? Maybe...the administrative team left something to be desired. Government regulations? Also a maybe. Power play by which my agency asserts itself as a major player in influencing child and family mental health in this state? Probably. Anyhow, I'm awesome at what I do, and I'm going to be jobless...in a few weeks? A few months? Maybe I'll find a job? Whatever. I'm too tired to worry about it. Two days after that, I got on a plane to the cold, snowy midwest to pick up a large-ass luxury sedan (leather seats, sunroof, miles to the gallons-and-gallons-and-gallons) I inherited when my mom died of lung cancer at 60. Thank you, Someone Special, for embarking on that kind-of ridiculous errand with me. Five days of airplane, layover, airplane, taxi, visit the relatives, drop the bags at the rented house my dad abandoned last week, discover the heat's out, call for help, get the furnace working again, visit the relatives again, drive through Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana, Washington, and Oregon, sleep in motels, hope for good weather, try to see buffaloes and museums and Native American villages and state parks and whatever, find out everything's closed in the upper Midwest in the winter, have some fun anyway road trip. If you ever find yourself driving I-94, I recommend the large animal, Viking, and Paul Bunyan sculptures. And Riverfront Park in Spokane. And I recommend doing it in the summer so you can see the National Buffalo Museum and the Indian villages and the Lewis and Clark camps and the Pictograph Caves and the good parts of Yellowstone. Ultimately, there's an unbelievable amount of nothing along I-94 and I-90, and along the trip from I-90 to I-84 through Washington. But it was still kind of fun. And I am now the proud owner of an aging Mitsubishi Diamante Old Lady Car With Heated Leather Seats That Seems To Leak Antifreeze. I figure I combine that with the Even More Aged Honda Civic Hatchback Without Power Anything That Leaks Whenever It Rains and maybe I can trade in for half of a New Small, Efficient Car Without Any Problems Yet.

After I got back, there was an unbelievable amount of music I could go see. I went the jazz route. Saturday, I went to see Blue Cranes at The Cleaners at Ace Hotel. Wow. I've seen these guys a couple of times, and I'm still...oh, Wow. Bowled over. Such classic experimental jazz without misstep or dumbing-down, yet it's perfectly understandable and accessible to an indie-rock-listener crowd too. Every note is perfectly placed, yet there are clear improvisational solos. Dynamic, intelligent, hook-y, charming, powerful-as-all-hell stuff. The next night was Lindsey Stormo/Ben Darwish and Why I Must Be Careful at Rontoms, the closing after-party of the Portland Jazz Fest. Lindsey had this light, untrained showtunes-wannabe voice that warbled birdlike in the high ranges or reached desperately for blues standard sounds in her lower ranges, but consistently sounded weak and tentative in any range. Maybe, with a good voice teacher, she'd be right for the chorus of a light operetta out of the Gilbert and Sullivan catalog. Ben Darwish was simply the hired hand that comped along with her, so I didn't get to learn anything about him as a jazz pianist. Why I Must Be Careful absolutely blew me out of the water, though. Shit. I mean...shit. Pounding, experimental keyboards and drums and...holy shit. This stuff was so overwhelming, I couldn't understand it then and I can't describe it now. All I can say is, you have absolutely got to go see this shit for yourself, because it's beyond amazing. Fists flying, drumsticks everywhere, chaos and disorder to the untrained eye (ear), but yet the two of them clearly never lose each other no matter how many times they lose me, and their musical genius outstrips any band I've ever heard. Holy fucking shit. Shit.

Until I next find the stamina to write...

Monday, January 25, 2010

Embarrassment of Riches

It's been an awesome January for live music. From a personal perspective, it's been a tough year so far. I inherited a car...you do the math. Yep, I started my year giving $487 dollars to Delta Airlines for a one-way bereavement fare. But then, after a much cheaper friend-of-an-airline-employee standby ticket back to Portland that landed me in first class (hot breakfast!), there was all this music to make things better. I'll tell you about the driving-the-car-from-the-midwest-in-snowy-February road trip next month. And a quick public service announcement: If you smoke, quit. Now. Yesterday. Because lung cancer sucks, and there's no such thing as remission, much less a cure.

Anyhow, back to the music stuff. There are more shows this month than I can possibly see. I thought about going to Blunt Mechanic, Guidance Counselor and Vellella Vellella, Point Juncture WA, Jared Mees, Akron/Family and Au and Wow & Flutter, Liv Warfield, Ben Gibbard and Jay Farrar and John Roderick (of The Long Winters)...so many shows. But there was so much overlap. It's surprising to me how many nights this month haven't had good shows to go see, given the thousands of good shows to see this month. Some nights I've just been tired. I'm always tired this time of year, and then on top of that, it's been a rough month for me, as I mentioned. But I did get out to see a Yes On 66/67 benefit last week at the Full Life Cafe and Center. I missed Quiet Countries, sadly. I wonder what a Quiet Countries acoustic show is like? Got there in the middle of Nick Jaina's set. It was just him and the bassist, totally stripped down, playing mostly tracks from the new one, which won't come out for a few months. I've gotten a sneak peek, and I can tell you it's beautiful, but low-energy. Working toward the adult-alternative end of the indie-folk spectrum, though not anywhere near Borders-Bookstore-Cafe territory. It's not bad, it's just very, very subtle. Nick was followed by St. Frankie Lee. I swear to you, I took notes. I remember crouching down with a pen in hand. But I don't know where those notes went. St. Frankie Lee were messy, lacking in cohesion. They looked young. Perhaps they had some potential. She had kind of a pop voice that didn't hold much appeal for me, and she did most of the singing. His voice was plain and unadorned, in a good way. There were a lot of people onstage, but the only really interesting one was the multi-instrumentalist playing the trumpet, the plastic portland glockenspiel, and the saw. She wasn't great at any of these things, but that could change. I'm looking forward to her next band, or maybe the band after that. Bazillionaire was next. I think Jesse's a great and fun musician, and an ordinary lyricist. I feel bad saying that, since he's one of the nicest and most genuine people I only vaguely and casually know. And he works at the Full Life Center and organized the show, and deserves a ton of credit for that. But I always enjoy seeing Bazillionaire. Last up was Swim Swam Swum. They did their best to liven up a dwindling audience in an alcohol-free venue that was basically set up like a preschool, but for developmentally delayed adults. You could tell they weren't totally feeling it, and seemed to drag a bit, but stuck it out and got everyone bouncing.

By the way, vote yes on 66 and 67. Not only will the Full Life Center, an enrichment and job training program for developmentally disabled adults, survive with a 'yes' result, and it will probably benefit all my clients' other programs, which makes my work life tolerable (I work for medicaid dollars, so I think my job and my program and my agency are pretty safe, but hey, vote yes just in case, okay?), but seriously, don't you think there's something wrong about the corporate tax in Oregon staying at $10 for 79 years? I mean, I suppose I wouldn't complain if I was also paying the same dollar amount in income taxes that Oregonians were paying in 1931, but I'm not. If the measure passes and the corporate minimum (something crazy like 97% of corporations pay the minimum) increases to $150, I'll still be paying more per year in income taxes than ten corporations in Oregon, but at least it will no longer be more than 150 corporations. Can I incorporate? It seems way cheaper. Also, the individuals making four times my salary need to be paying a higher tax rate than I do. If I ever make that kind of money, and I grumble about my taxes, slap me.

Anyhow, the next show I saw was Har Mar Superstar with Dat'r and The Beauty at Mississippi Studios. I had forgotten this, but I've seen The Beauty before. It's hard to forget the image of a chubby, tattooed bear and a skinny, pierced punk with microphones, dancing around to recorded synths. It's a little like The Snuggleups, though not quite that awesome. The Beauty ranged all over in their meta-tongue-in-cheek influences. Disco funk (Earth, Wind, and Fire). '80s pop (George Michael, Michael Jackson). Sexy-funk R&B (Prince). '90s boy band (I don't know this genre well enough to guess at who). All filtered through an electro-dance-homoerotic-mostly kidding lens. Great fun, though I wished throughout the set that they were The Snuggleups instead. Dat'r is just Dat'r, as they always have been and always will be. Wildly creative, hyperkinetic, Atari-joystick-triggered electro-dance with, refreshingly, virtually no R&B elements anywhere. Live drums to spice things up. Paul Alcott's hair. Last up, Har Mar Superstar. All schtick. A paunchy, balding guy looking like a cross between Jon Lovitz and Danny DeVito in his long-haired days, telling us all how awesome and sexy he is. During the course of the set, he stripped down through four or five layers of costume, ending up in gold sequined fingerless elbow-length gloves and Paul Frank leopard-print briefs. He's a pretty amazing performer, and his band is good. The songs are fun, and exceptionally tongue-in-cheek, R&B/white funk-based dance stuff. The crowd was atrocious and ugly and inconsiderate, packed tight and elbows everywhere, trying to play sexy and instead just coming across as clumsy and unaware of their own bodies in space. I had an elbow-to-the-beer experience four different times, and I was being careful. Great performance + good music - ugly, unpleasant crowd lacking in any sense of irony = okay experience.

Tonight, I went to Rontoms. The Angry Orts opened up. I'd never seen them before, and I loved them. Despite the difference in gender ratio (Orts are one woman, three men), they sounded most of the time like an ever-so-slightly toned-down Sleater-Kinney. The guitar and bass were sometimes a bit lusher and fuller than the bulk of the S-K catalogue, and Sara's yelping and warbling is usually a bit softer, warmer, and poppier than that of S-K. It's interesting how such a slight variation from a theme takes one from riot-grrrl to really not riot-grrl. There was also one number, in 6/8 time, that was a kind of rock-y folk twang a la Norfolk and Western. Tempo No Tempo followed. They are apparently from San Francisco. They did kind of a half-Fugazi thing that just wasn't all that interesting. The half that they couldn't fill with Fugazi was some mish-mash of heavy goth, Dick-Dale-type surf-punk, and shouty geek-punk. None of these elements was prominent enough nor good enough, and the crossed styles seemed to confuse them. I didn't stick around long enough through their set to get to World's Greatest Ghosts, whom I saw once and loved.

Sunday, January 03, 2010

Back In The Saddle

Sorry, folks, I got behind. And when I got behind, the idea of getting caught up again was just too daunting. But I've given up now. How does this benefit you, you wonder?

New posts, that's how.

New Year's Eve was the Fir Ball at the Doug Fir. Inside Voices opened up. Some potential, but lacking in variety of tempo. Just slooooooow. And kinda slow. And they varied from mostly twangy to really-really twangy. But all that bass...that's gotta be good for something. Next up was The Shaky Hands. I loved them for the two years they played live after their first album came out. Bouncy, happy, fun, poppy...it was easy to forgive them their hippie tendencies. Then they went into hibernation, and created the second album. Classic rawk with nary a bounce or a pop to be seen (heard). I was crushed. I avoided them. Like that former friend who did that one thing in high school, and you couldn't quite tell him how embarrassing it was, so you just went out of your way to avoid him in the halls and not make eye contact in math class. But they've found a middle ground that rocks (not rawks) and still buzzes and bounces with that weird, infectious voice Nick Delffs has. Last up, Quasi. Covering The Who. With special guests Sean Croghan and Corin Tucker. You know how amazing this sounds? Well, it was about a kazillion times better than that. I sang along. I bobbed my head. I headbanged! It was awesome.

Tonight, there was a free showcase at Backspace. We missed Zoo Girls, and decided (well, I decided, and because I'd had a really hard day, The Boyfriend went along with me) that classic 80s video games at Ground Kontrol around the corner would be more fun than Eat Skull. We came back for Tango Alpha Tango, which ranged from charming blues-folk to over-the-top classic groove metal reminiscent of Led Zeppelin but with more jams and screaming. I wasn't sure what to think, and it seemed to me neither was the band. Y La Bamba came next, and they were beautiful and subtle as always. The capacity all-ages crowd had no subtlety to spare for them, though when I got a chance to listen I enjoyed it. Finally, Typhoon finished up. Seemingly made up of everyone in every band and non-band project of Boy Gorilla Records (and Boy Gorilla Coffee, and Boy Gorilla Whatever Else), they relied heavily on drone-pop with lots of spaghetti western horn flourishes. Does this sound like it would suck? Because it didn't. They did have a number of more up-tempo bits that weren't so droney, but the horns were insistently and persistently spaghetti-ed. Great fun.

'Til next time,
OMS